by Nicole Wells
“...Experts do advise everyone to not read too much into this. People should not apply it to any other situations...”
I put fresh water in the posy of crown daisies I picked on our hike yesterday. They’re a beautiful but invasive species, so I’ve made it a habit to help out by picking the cheery yellow blooms. I think they appreciate the stay of execution.
"...This appears unique to Enya, and maybe an unstable mutation for all we know..."
I set a dish of strawberries on the table just as Jacob brings a steaming pile of pancakes from the kitchen.
“...Yes, Jeff, we really are just at the tip of the iceberg for ramifications. It's all just speculation at this point...”
I am about to pour the maple syrup when I look down at my plate. Jacob had made faces into each pancake by browning shapes of batter first before merging into the large final dollop. I can’t help but laugh at the comedic culinary expression.
“...But we do know thanks to the work of this local prodigy that there indeed is a unique mutation as part of the picture...”
I look up to see Jacob mimicking my pancake. I throw a strawberry at him, which he deftly catches and pops in his mouth, grinning.
"You dork," I whisper, love shining in my eyes. Okay, I guess some things never change.
My phone rings and, although I’d usually just let it go to voicemail, I have a feeling I should answer it. I look and see it's Karla. I pick up and let her talk while I scoot out of the table, miming for Jacob to continue without me. I kiss him on his head as I pass him by to head to the quiet of the bedroom.
“Enya, everyone is talking about your appearance on that talk show! Coupled with that medical report, you’re the hottest thing right now. I’m being bombarded with calls. I think we should release a statement.”
"Sure, yeah, I can give a statement now. I mean, there's no time like now, right? And the sooner we get something out, the fewer inquiries you'll get and less work for later." I say.
“Speaking of inquiries, I need some follow-up for that bit about the placebo effect. Can you expand on that some more?” Karla speaks like a reporter. Maybe managers and extremely productive types often have to squeeze and push their words into unwilling ears? Or maybe it's normal and just sounds that way in contrast to my own voice.
"Okay, sure, but let's go over the mutation first. That's easy because it's straightforward."
“Well, there’s no clear evidence of a connection, just that you have some heretofore unknown mutation. We don’t know the full function yet.”
“Yeah, that about sums it up.” I easily agree.
“There’s no direction you want to lead the speculation?” I think she forgets I don’t need to manipulate things. Ride the wave, you know? But instead I say, “I don’t know its purpose or significance either. I don’t get many visions about myself anymore. For all I know it was put there by aliens.”
“Um, I don’t think we’ll go with that.” I think she was trying for polite but her response comes out dry.
“Do you want to know what Jacob thinks?”
“Yes, please.” She practically sighs with relief.
“He thinks it has some connection with intercellular communication in the neurons and that resulted in being able to perceive more possibility, which opened me up to, hmm, the currents in the air of life? The waves of fate? He explains it so much better.”
"Okay, I'll see if I can get a more in-depth statement from him, his personal speculation beyond what was publicly released.
“Sounds good. I’ll let him know. He likes to be formal with these kinds of things, you know, type it up and all. He’ll probably give you something later today after he surfs.” I can’t help but imagine him surfing and I’m smiling, crazy in love. Okay, maybe I don’t stay in the present moment all the time.
“So, about the placebo effect? Brilliant performance, by the way.”
“It wasn't a performance. But yeah, I figured that would generate some discussion. So, first, how does the placebo effect work? How can something that was beyond one’s ability suddenly become able to change? Like you have a fever. And then I give you sugar pills and suddenly your body can make you afebrile? Or you have a rash. And then I give you snake oil and your body can suddenly get rid of it because I believed it could? What is the mechanism there that empowers the body, when there is no medicine?”
“Yeah, I got you. This is great. Keep going.”
"Okay, well, who's to say something like that isn't at work? Isn't that the same kind of miracle? You believe and then it happens. It doesn't mean that what you believe is true, it just shows the power of belief. The power of placebo. My point was also that we discount the power of placebo because it doesn't fit into our framework, but that's not fair and that's not science. Science is open-minded and that's clinging to a belief. So, there's something to the power of placebo, and similarly, there could be something to my gift. It's not discountable just because it doesn't fit into the framework.
"And back to the placebo, some people would say the placebo effect is all a mental thing. That, in some nonsensical way, it is not truly bringing about the changes. How can we say that, when we do not understand how a placebo works? How does intuition work?
"It's okay to wonder and to ask these questions. It's okay if we don't have the answers and are just in the unknowing. It's not about proving something wrong or right. It's about discovery. Taking some egos out of science — but don't say that. Ego loves an opening to fight."
“Got it, got it. This is great.”
"Between you and me though, I think it's all about energy. Like acupuncture and homeopathy. Many people think those are just placebo. Take homeopathy. You dilute something so much that the physical presence is gone — but its effect on the water is still there. In fact, the more you dilute it, the stronger its potency. Is that placebo or energy medicine? And if it's a placebo, how does homeopathy work on babies or animals?"
"Hm. Interesting. And so maybe, to bring it full circle, this mutation has some effect along those lines? I think we'll push for that direction, weave it together. I'll see what Jacob's take is. Okay, thanks, Enya, I got this."
"I know you do. It's all good. No worries." I say goodbye and disconnect. I realize I sounded a bit like a surfer in my head, as I head back out to Jacob, now checking the forecast on his phone. I hug him from behind, his hands meeting mine, latching on and never letting go.
chapter 38
“YOU ALL KNOW THE STORY of a woman who changes and even saves lives with her visions. We all longed for a new focus after the quarantine, and her message of love gained traction and seemed to spread like a second, smaller wave of the virus itself. And I think the world is a more loving place now, with new communities and institutions devoted to her sayings and teachings. Ladies and Gentlemen, it is a joy to welcome back Enya!”
I walk the quick path from off-stage to the couch, smiling and waving at the people that I cannot quite see but that I can definitely hear.
"Thank you" I reply to the late-night host after I take my seat. "It's a pleasure to be here."
“Now, I know you are a household name and it seems like everyone knows you and is your friend, but, full disclosure, my wife saw you. I have to say, we were both impressed. And I think we do actually call each other friends now.”
“Yes.” I smile at him fondly. “Although I wouldn’t have you call me a teacher. That’s not quite right.”
"Yogi? Sage?" I shake my head at him. He must know I don't agree with the accolades for the sake of the audience, but on some level, I also know this flattery is his way of thanking me. The world is an illusion, most of it a mirror where all we see is the world according to how it affects Me. What an odd world where the gift is offering someone a bigger mirror.
“Visionary, certainly.”
“Really, I’m just me. Just Enya. Maybe not the same Enya I’ve always been, but no different than anyone else.” I forestall his objection, laying a hand on his arm as I
turn to the camera, “I truly believe there’s nothing I do that anyone else can’t do. Even without the mutation. The mutation is a possible explanation, not an exclusion. Who knows what you do when you limit yourself like that? What the ramifications are when you stop believing in more? I have my possible explanation. But first, before that, I pushed myself past my limits. I pushed past my boundaries. The mutation didn’t do that.
“What is your miracle? What are the boundaries you perceive that are holding you back? What is keeping you from being more? More than you can imagine?
“What are your dreams? What is the dream of the cosmos for you? Are you listening? Can you hear it? Open up more to possibility, open up more to your heart. What does love want to beget in you?
“I know some people think I have and am more. More peace. More equanimity. More love. But I did not create these things and I do not own them. They are not mine.
"Thinking that way is a way of cutting yourself off from them instead of opening up to them. What if all there is is love? Love is your birthright. And that is why I am no different than any of you. We all are due love, and we all can love. Love is the currency, love is the air. Love is all that will remain when it's all said and done because love is all there is."
The sparks seem to emphasize my words, emphasize the silence. A beloved audience to my pronouncement. I look around, better able to see the faces, and every movement of my eye seems to trigger the sparks, an echo of my elation.
“Enya.” Now it's his turn to lay his hand on my arm. My attention captured, he says so softly I’m not sure the microphone picks it up, “You sound like a teacher to me.” Then he booms in a different voice, “Thank you, Enya.”
He turns towards the cameras, “And up next, the one you’ve been waiting for, all the way from Australia, here to sing the hit song from her new record, it's Aurora!” I feel the roar of the audience rattle my bones. The cameras are panning the audience, so I share a knowing look with my friend. Being a celebrity is such a weird thing, a microcosm of the social world where everyone knows you and seems to have rights to you, but no one really does either. I’m thankful my path is not on that trajectory.
I leave soon after, done with the drama and lights for now. I don't get a glimpse of the Aurora on my way out, there's too much security. I lean into my personal security guy as we walk to the car. Although I don't need any security — I actually welcome anyone who wants to talk to me, ill or well-intentioned — I love that he helps me feel secure. Sometimes I still feel bigger than my body. When I'm in that place of oneness, filled with sparks and visions, I convince myself I feel the entire universe. In that out-of-body place, he keeps me centered, cocooned in love, and I'm good so long as I am with him.
Rain starts as we’re about halfway to the car and Jacob canopies an umbrella over me. This boy. I didn’t even see him carrying one. It's like he’s got a preternatural connection to the forecast. I snuggle closer, inhaling that comforting woodsy smell, reluctant to part when we get to the car. Jacob reads my mind, pulling me flush and kissing me.
“You sounded like a healer to me. I’m proud of you, Columbine.” He says, echoing my words from this morning. He parts with a kiss to my hands, and it's like we’re new lovers again — we just can’t separate. I laugh at our silliness and get in the passenger seat.
He starts the engine, and no words need to be spoken. The present moment is so full, so ripe.
—— ——
IT’S A QUIET DRIVE HOME, an hour later and a world away. The windshield wipers swish back and forth as the storm gathers intensity and pelts us. But it cannot pierce our cocoon of love.
I look at the suncatcher hanging from the rearview mirror. It’s the crystal heart with the beaded rainbow chain that Dad gave me. It has no light to collect in this dark storm, but there’s tons of love in here that sets the world aglow anyways.
I wish my dad could see me now. Jacob is my partner and equal. We lean on each other, creating a beautiful arch together, but can stand separate, with solid foundations. We truly complement, not complete, each other.
The wipers swish to their own rhythm, as they did once before in a car ride with my mom, a lifetime ago. Swish, swash. Back and forth.
The booms of thunder periodically drown out the swish and the pings from the onslaught of rain. Globes of water harass the wipers, but they continue on, undaunted. Back and forth, again and again. The suncatcher starts to sways with the car as Jacob turns off the freeway.
Then, suddenly, it seems to happen all at once but in slow motion. It is one of those moments when time and space seem to bend.
A blinding flash of light and a crash of sound.
The crystal heart charm is still off-kilter, suspended. I am pressed against the door.
Time stills. A ripping, a tearing. Noise roars.
Crystals are illuminated by a flash that should have gone but hangs in the air, paused in stark illumination. The world is a suspension of white sparkles against black.
The network of prisms that was once the windshield slowly break free. Millions of crystal shards dance through the air. It is a beautiful defiance of natural law, a break through the illusion of the glass.
Sound goes from an unintelligible onslaught to a roaring deafness. The screeching is painful. My body is frozen, succumbing to the laws of the world and the scene around it.
The roof caves in.
My head cannot turn, my eyes cannot choose their sights, but my soul knows. He is here with me. He centers me to home.
It is forever, a lifetime, and instantaneous.
chapter 39
She is a vision in white. Our family and friends have gathered, but I only have eyes for her. It is one of those timeless moments, the weight of it pressing, crystalizing.
We are at Golden Gate Park. Spring is sliding into summer, and blooms abound. Motes catch the sunlight and dance in the air, a halo around my bride, matching the sparkle in her bodice and tiered skirt, but pale in comparison to the sparkle in her eyes.
I met her here again, in my heart, the place and time when we took our vows.
We cannot linger, the white light beckons, so I speak to her soul with my eyes, as I did then: I didn't choose this fate, but I choose you. I love you. We'll make the most of every moment, find eternity in the present, and face the future together.
I promise it all again, as I did then. But I see I don't need to. Her eyes are already answering back, shining with unlimited, unconditional love.
chapter 40
FLAMES LICK THE SKY, breaking free from the confines that bind them. Sparks issue from the giant tree trunk as it is devoured with what remains of the car. Already blackened from the lightning strike, ashes billow forth, merging with more ashes.
The black cloud ascends to the sky, atoms released from the bonds of structure, stripped of their physical identity.
Energy signatures waft in the air, like homeopathic dilutions in water, a ripple spreading outwards. As the ashes and embers rise up, potencies fall down like rain. What is a mutation released in such a way?
The ashes of the bodies that once were shirk these final identities, on their return to the stars once more, now nameless, now one.
chapter 41
“RENOWNED DIRECTOR AND CLOSE FRIEND of Enya, Gary McManis, has released an advance clip from his upcoming documentary. He is going to stream it live for the worldwide memorial. He hopes that those that cannot light a candle or be part of one of the bonfires can still share their grief and love by playing it tonight at 7 pm PST in lieu of a moment of silence…”
The old man lights the ceremonial tobacco in the longhouse. It is evening already on the East Coast. Light and sound drift from the open windows and doors of his home a few feet away. A popular news program broadcasts during prime time. A new voice drifts in the air.
“...‘Enya would not have wanted our silence, its isolating aloneness. She would have wanted our love. Our voices, our songs coming together. So we know we are not alone
. She was loved, and we are loved.’...”
The Elder rolls a necklace in his hand, like a rosary. There is a sizeable chunk of wood in the center, a crude approximation of a flower. The edges are smoothed and browned from frequent rubbing. The boy carved this after his initiation ceremony at 13 years old, when the Spirits spoke to him and he got his name. The old man mourns the Medicine Man known as Jacob and calls him by his sacred name.
“...We have a preview here today, one of the last interviews with Enya…”
Moonvine, commonly known as moonflower. A powerful plant known to aid visions, its white funnel catching the moon's light, not of this daytime world, but a light in the dark. A night-blooming rarity, its fleeting blossoms fading with each new dawn, not meant for long in this world.
"...' What is your message?'"
“‘Every moment choose love. That’s the answer. That’s the heart.’...”
He remembers the Medicine Man’s first vision, at that pivotal age of 13. A girl who would change the world, a girl to spark the flame.
He doesn't fight the grief but lets it roll through him. In its wake, he holds close the consolation that this was how Moonvine always saw it, from the start. This was how he wanted it.
“...‘The body just houses the soul. You can set it free. The heart is the window for the soul, the access point. The body constrains the soul, limits it. Remove those limitations. What gifts will people unveil? There is no limit when all there is is love.’...”
They are the start. With their sacrifice, the waves of loving energy have spread, activating others. It has begun.
Dear Reader
Well, this is awkward. You just read through pieces of my heart and soul (thank you for making it this far!!) and now I’m going to ask for a favor. You know the deal. Books thrive with reviews and die without them.
